Cold Heart
by terrapin01
Summary: Continuation fic. Murtagh headed off into the north after the events of Inheritance. What did he find there?
1. Chapter 1

Cold Heart

North.

The winds buffeted him as well as his partner. It stung like blades of ice even as he muttered words in the ancient language to protect them.

North.

Over the rich green forests of Ellesmera, the trees grew paler as they went. The sky turned from its blue to a listless gray. The heavens looked as though they no longer cared.

North.

He left behind all that he knew. His past and his father. Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Alagaesia. Nasuada. Murtagh left all but Thorn behind. In the surreal journey across a dispassionate sky, even the name of names began to slip away. He had no use for it, let it go.

There was an uncharacteristic silence between dragon and rider. For days they flew, landing only to eat and sleep. They'd gone beyond the chartered borders of the land and I to the unknown. Across snowy plains and icy lakes they traveled, until a ridge of frozen mountains appeared upon the horizon.

_There is where we can achieve solitude. _Murtagh thought to Rhorn, breaking the many days of silence.

_We shall always be together, you and I. I doubt solitude is the correct term. _Murtagh gave a grim chuckle. How long had it been since he'd last found humor in anything? They would camp at the base and then travel to the other side the next day. Then the two would start anew. As they approached the string of mountains, it was proved that the barrier would not be a small one, however having seen the Beors, it was nothing.

_With this we may finally get some peace._

_You know when you say things like that, the opposite tends to happen. _Thorn snorted. It was not that he disagreed with his rider, but he always had a sense for strange happenstance.

"Brisngr." Murtagh muttered. It took a surprising amount of energy to light a simple fire. The eldunari had aided him for so long he'd fallen complacent in his skills. He would need to begin to practice again, his magical might had atrophied with the crutch of dragon hearts. Thorn was out hunting for them both, there was little to be done at camp. His mind frittered back to Nasuada, he wondered what happened to her in the time that had transpired. It would be either her or Orrin that took the crown from Uru'baen, of the two she would definitely have more support. What would the kingdom be like under her rule, would the world really be changed? No, not the world. The world was too large and Alagaesia too small for anything like that to occur. Still Murtagh couldn't keep his thoughts off of her.

_When we departed from Uru'baen I thought you left your brooding thoughts behind. I suppose that's one part of your true name that will never change. _Thorn announced bringing back a deer between his teeth and a stag between his claws. He dropped the bloodied stag at Murtagh's feet with a loud thump, blood spattering across the blank snow.

_Prepare it on your own. That should keep you occupied, if only temporarily. _With Zar'roc's enchanted edge, butchering the creature took next to no effort at all. Still Thorn was correct, the precision needed so he didn't spill the guts everywhere kept him from reminiscing. He surprised himself by eating half the stag before feeling full.

_You have the appetite worthy of a dragon tonight, my rider. Perhaps a rather small dragon, but nonetheless._

_I hadn't realized I was so hungry. _Murtagh looked down at the devoured corpse. Thorn shamelessly devoured the rest in a single gulp.

_It's all that brooding you do. It fills you to the edge of your consciousness. Makes you forget things. You haven't eaten since the day prior to yesterday if I recall correctly._

_Really? That long?_

_To be fair, I have been the one flying us._

_True._

_Now let us rest. We, or rather I, have an arduous flight on the morrow._

There had been a light snowfall overnight that persisted into the morning. Murtagh discovered this when Thorn stretched his wings, letting an avalanche of snow engulf his rider.

_Oops. _It was always strange to feel sarcasm in your mind, especially so blatantly.

"Vaetna." The snow dispersed itself. Easy enough magic to preform considering how light he object in question was.

_Cast your warming spells and let us be off. _Murtagh muttered the necessary spells and was about to recast his own wards when he realized there was no reason. There were no more fights with the Varden or Galbatorix. There were none that bore animosity in the frozen lands. So he saddled Thorn and the pair was off.

The ascent went slowly, the snow gradually came down more and more. The white teeth of the earth extended far into the sky the wind also did little to aid them. Thorn had trouble rising quickly enough, several times his claws grazed against the mountain's snowy skin. The snow made it hard to see, but Murtagh noticed a small field of boulders. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it appeared as though one moved. Murtagh reached out with his mind to confirm his suspicions.

_I have a bad feeling about this. _Thorn redoubled his efforts in case his rider was correct. Murtagh tentatively reached out with a tendril of thought.

As soon as his mind brushed against the 'boulder's' it sprang from the snow with its fellows. It seemed similar to a dragon, but with a varying number of limbs and appendages. The smallest was the size of his torso, it had but two legs and a pair of wings. Quickly it darted through the storm, it would have quickly caught up to them if not for the gusts of wind sending small puny body reeling backwards. The majority of the beasts were half the size of Thorn, with four wings and six legs, although the some only had four legs. The leader of the pack however was an even more vicious looking creature. He would have rather fought the lumbering Shruikan. The size of Thorn, it had eight legs, four wings and two tails. However its strangest feature was its twin pairs of eyes that were dead focused on its prey.

Murtagh clutched Thorn's spines, feeding him his own energy as his dragon turned and barrel rolled blindly in the snow. Their white hide nigh invisible, the only hint of their location was their omnipresent screeching and the occasional white light that poured forth from their maw.

_Thorn, I cannot fend off their minds. They are strange beings, not unlike the Raz'ac._

_I doubt we would have a chance against so many. So long as you shield me from their strange breath, I feel we can make it._

The battle on the mountain was a difficult one, however as dragon and rider ascended, the smaller creatures dropped back down lacking the stamina to continue. As the horde dwindled into a swarm, Murtagh cast spells at the largest of them. Chanting the words of death he severed the insides of the creature. The beast faltered momentarily, but quickly recovered. Ground was gained, but the exercise drained a substantial amount of energy. It wasn't worth attempting a second time.

"Veoht!" Murtagh shouted, slowing the breath of one of the smaller creatures. It was a beautiful sight he had not the time to admire, a cloud of shimmering diamond. The spell exhausted him further. He would need to use the ruby in Zar'roc from now on.

The mountains still rose to either side, but straight forward there was a path between the peaks. Between diverting the mysterious breath, giving Thorn his remaining energy was exhausting. His dragon pushed on nearing the pass. As Thorn dove for the opening, eight-legs roared a true roar, not a high pitched screech and opened its mouth. Summoning upon all the energy within Zar'roc, as well as what he could sustain without dying, Murtagh attempted to divert the blow. It was like trying to block the Anora and Murtagh lost consciousness.

**A/N: How does it look? I really wanted to try out this style of writing. Code Light is kind of laconic, but I've always wanted to write in purple prose. While this might not be there yet, it does seem to have a lot more detail. As for the concept, who wouldn't want more Murtagh? Anyhow I'm not abandoning Code Light, I just want to diversify my repertoire. Review, fav, etc. **

**Thanks for reading! ㈃4**


	2. Chapter 2

Cold Heart II

Murtagh opened his eyes to an unfamiliar setting. Groaning he sat up on the bed, when a sharp pain in his left arm forced him back down. He wondered how he got here and what the nature of his wound was, it felt numb and painful. If he knew what was wrong and had a little more strength then he'd be able to heal it. For the time being he could only wait.

_Thorn? _Murtagh reached out with his mind as he waited. His dragon could take care of himself, although he wondered what his rescuers thought. It was doubtful that they even could cause any harm to Thorn, but he was still concerned. He was unsure whether even the legends of dragons had been able to pass the mountains and their resident beasts. As he threw out his consciousness he sensed someone approaching.

"You're awake I see. Good." The man was stocky with a thick brown beard. His hands were calloused, though not from fighting, perhaps he'd landed near a farm? No, not in this climate. Unless magic was used to help crops grow?

"Where am I?" His voice cracked and it barely came out as a murmur. It occurred to him that other than the occasional muttered word of magic, he hadn't spoken since he left Alagaesia. He coughed several times trying to clear his throat before trying again.

"You're in Riverfell. Stranger to these parts I assume? Thought dragons disappeared ages ago." Murtagh's eyes widened

"Thorn, where is he?"

"Name of your pet? Ah, well it had a few up in arms at first, but we noticed you in the saddle and figured it was tame. We tried patching up its wing, but there was extensive damage from the poganklov's breath."

"Poganklov?" The name seemed powerful, but it didn't sound like the Ancient Language. Interesting, but his dragon was more important, and from the man's description, needed more help than he did. "Where is Thorn? I must see to him!" He demanded, trying once more to stand keeping his arm from moving.

"Calm down and keep your arm from moving! You were lucky, most people woulda lost their whole arm. That is if they weren't killed and eaten. You can see 'Thorn' soon, rest for now." Murtagh refused to listen. Thorn was the only one who remained, the only one he had left. Eragon ostensibly would welcome him, but his half-brother always had a bewildering naivete. Galbatorix had been the only one the fool thought irredeemable.

"Out of my way." Murtagh grunted shambling towards the door. His legs were only slightly scraped up, but he was feeling incredibly light-headed. The man made a half hearted attempt to block his path, unwilling to rough up an already wounded man.

"Ach, what can I do to stop you? You're not well!"

"Where's the damn door?" Murtagh found himself in what appeared to be a dining room. The hearth was of a considerable size with stew simmering in a pot. Stomach rumbling, he looked for the exit. Finally he came to a door with snow in front of it, at last the way out!

"Hold on now, it's a storm out there. You could at least wait..." Murtagh cut him off with a glare. Opening the door he met a cast of snowflakes as his feet were buried under the snow that built up against the foot of the door. His tunic wasn't fashioned for such weather and he hardly had the energy for spells. Still he set out.

"You're mad." Even as he said it, he draped a heavy mantle over Murtagh, who muttered incomprehensible thanks and set out. It wasn't much of a blizzard, but the snow still came down quickly. Looking around, Murtagh couldn't make out Thorn. Through the white haze he couldn't see the pass, but was able to see the mountains they'd passed over.

Trudging towards his best guess at where they'd landed, the wind nipped at his nose and ears. He was glad for the mantle, as it kept the snow from piling on his head,but couldn't help growling as it flapped against his wound. He regretted not asking what the nature of the wound was. Hardly any feeling remained in his arm, Murtagh was unsure whether that was a result of the cold, the wound or something else.

_Thorn! _He called out. Without any direction to head in he would just have to search, body and mind. _Where in this freezing hell are you?_

There was a brief moment when he brushed against Thorn's consciousness. Focusing in, he pinpointed the location as well as he could and set off in an awkward dash through the snow. Before long he came to a dragon shaped lump in the snow.

_**Thorn!**_

_Ughh, I'm sleeping. _Murtagh was both relieved and infuriated.

_What do you mean? We crashed, you poor excuse for a reptile! Did you even notice I was gone? _Thorn eyed his rider who was flapping his arms about inconsolably. It would have made quite the scene, an injured man berating a dragon.

_Of course. _Smoke exited Thorn's nostrils as he shook the snow off his scales. _The humans that came by bandaged our wounds. Besides, I am not as wounded as you. I could have easily bounded over to that house and ripped the roof off had you called me._

_Unless you happened to be sleeping at the time._

_Just climb on my back and I'll take you back. You need rest Rider. _Murtagh made an attempt to climb up Thorn's broad side, but with only one arm and the scales iced over, he simply made a fool of himself. Thorn silently offered his wing as a foothold. Murtagh collapsed over him, draped across his back. Thorn tromped over to the house with ease. Unless it was more than several feet, a dragon as large as he had no problem. Doing his best to lower his rider to the cottage with his good wing, he left Murtagh to slump against the door for support. He growled to alert the owner of the dwelling.

As the door opened inwards, Murtagh fell to the ground. The man wore a confused look on his face before noticing the dragon.

"Oh. You must be Thorn?" He spoke in a stilted manner, as his eyes met the red orbs of the dragon.

_Indeed. I thank you for taking care of my rider, he is quite careless at times._

_oO__o_

Murtagh awoke once again in the bed and almost got up again until he felt Thorn's presence.

_Stay in bed you fool, you need rest._

_Thorn...What injuries have you sustained?_

_The membrane on my wing is torn to the point I am unable to fly. It will not heal without the aid of magic. I also happen to be missing more than a few scales, my snout and underbelly now have a considerable number of weak points._

_You are missing scales?_

_You don't recall anything? Figures that unprotected cranium of yours suffered a few hits. It's not much of a tale, after you fell unconscious after failing to divert the breath of those, Poganklov was it? , the membrane of my wing froze over. As I tried flying, the frozen pieces cracked and we plummeted down. Our momentum carried us down the slope, I lost my scales to the rocks encountered._

_So you acted as a sled? _Murtagh could feel Thorn's scowl.

_You daren't bring that up. _The rider was chuckling now, despite his usual sullen demeanor.

_Aah, but the Tale of the Dread Sled..._

_I was but a hatchling! _He laughed, even as he felt Thorn's growls shake the cottage. One of the few joyful moments they'd been unmolested by Galbatorix while in Uru'baen. Murtagh's 'caretaker' came in to see what the noise was about.

"Good to see you're lively lad. Now that you've got your dragon back we can have a more coherent conversation, aye?"

"Yes. I remember you saying we were in Riverfell. I have never heard of this place, I take it this is beyond the borders of Alagaesia?" Murtagh returned to his normal, more commanding tone swiftly.

"I'd say so, as I've never heard of such a place! So what is your business here stranger?"

"My name is Murtagh, my business is my own. However I will say I did not expect to see anyone on my journey." The man's expression saddened.

"Running from something? Well I suppose I won't pry. Name's Gerod. You can stay until you can survive on your own. I won't make you, as I'd probably be rather filling for a dragon, if a bit chewy." Murtagh was taken aback. Gerod at least glimpsed part of why he was here and still offering sanctuary. Danger and misfortune followed Murtagh like his footsteps, the man seemed to have a sense of it at least.

"I cannot fathom your reason for doing so, but I accept." He would take what he could. The northern reaches were a strange place and his life would be at risk if he was poorly informed. "Though first I would like to know, where is my sword?"

"Can't say I saw it. May have been left in the snow, someone could have taken it." How could they have missed it? The blade was red, it would have stood out. A depressing thought struck him, perhaps it'd fallen off while on the mountain. If so, retrieving it would be troublesome. The lack of a weapon wouldn't be troublesome, as it would be unlikely and unwise to fight the Poganklov hand-to-hand.

"Do you at least know how long it will be before my arm is healed?"

"You haven't taken a look at it have you." Gerod shook his head and stood up. "You can unwrap it, but do so carefully. I'll return with fresh linens." As Murtagh slowly unwrapped his arm despite what he'd seen Galbatorix do, he felt a small amount of bile rise in the back of his throat. The skin was cobbled from islands dark green masses of skin, separated by yellow rivers of dried pus. It appeared similar to gangrene, which was surprising. What Thorn described made it seem as though his wings suffered from a form of frostbite. It seemed as though only the outer layer of the skin had been affected. He gingerly moved his arm about, trying to test his mobility without causing undue stress to the wound.

"Govey krasaar." The drop in energy was minimal, but he was already tired. It wouldn't heal the wound, but it would at least keep it from becoming infected. Murtagh floated the translucent sphere of disease to the corner. Less than sanitary, admittedly, but he didn't have the energy to go walking about outside. Gerod returned with a small role of bandages.

"It does look nasty, doesn't it? Depends on how fast you heal, but you'll be here for at least a month. At least you're not krehal." Chuckling he bandaged Murtagh's arm.

"Krehal?"

"Alagaesia must be very far away! Krehal means left handed. But enough, you can get learning tomorrow. You're adventure earlier today must have been draining." Murtagh accepted begrudgingly, though there was no rush he hated to remain idle.

**A/N 8/9/13: In case you haven't noticed, I am using the Dragon Language to substitute for the gaps in the Ancient Language. Though no linguist I thought using "Brokenhand" was pretty good. Anyhow Murtagh searching for Thorn seems to go by quickly, though that's my problem with Purple Prose, omitting needless words. Well I guess I'm off to work on the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed and please review and favorite and make me TV Tropes page plz!**


	3. Chapter 3

Cold Heart III

"There's quite a bit for you to learn, though I don't know what skills you can train singlehanded."

"I would like to know more about this place. Are there any more creatures like the Poganklov to be wary of?" Murtagh did not look towards Gerod, after seeing his arm he most definitely did not wish the healing process to be hindered. The ceiling had become quite familiar to him, the wooden boards carefully put together, except for three locations where the planks spread apart due to some minuscule error. For all his wishing for new knowledge, Gerod was a paced man. Murtagh could not help his mind wandering, confined by the static situation.

"Perhaps I should start with the simple things. We live in Lokrim under the rule of Ondrar the Relentless. He was not firstborn, but dueled his two elder brothers to death." Gerod explained as he whittled away a fist-sized lump of wood with a rather large knife.

"Is such a thing usual?"

"Not at all. I believe the last time it happened was whenever my great-grandfather was young."

"Why is it so uncommon? To be king, I'd imagine that no two sons would be able to remain in the same room together." Gerod looked taken aback.

"You come from a very different place." He said solemnly "You would slay your own kin for the title of king?" Murtagh set his jaw in realization. That was the kind of life he'd been living, what he'd run from. Incessantly fighting his half-brother, having to torture the one woman he might care for, working for the black king. Then it had been for his life, but he saw that if not for Nasuada, he may have fought Eragon for the throne. His life had been so difficult, it left Murtagh grabbing every scrap of power trying to defend himself.

"I fought my brother for a long time. Though I can see others would feel differently on the matter."

"Are you running because he defeated you?" Gerod inquired, drifting from the topic of conversation.

"My past is my own." Nodding he accepted Murtagh's rebuke and continued.

"The king lives in Stradrang, the mountain that overlooks the Ruby Gorge. It is only a weeks walk northwest. After your arm heals, I believe that is where you should go."

"For what reason?" Murtagh could not see the wisdom of going to the presence of a man who killed his two brothers for the throne. He might be seen as a threat and was unsure of how they fought in the north.

"It is written that Dovahkiin will always be welcomed at the palace. While you may not be dragonborn, but you may be welcome as well."

"Speaking of which, are you sure there are no healers to repair my arm? I do not fancy being here until all my skin returns on its own."

"Unfortunately for you, the healer and her apprentice have both gone to placate the nearest mage. They will be back in at least two days, if at all." Holding up his work, the wood was a very basic blob, but you could see the head and arms coming into place. "Unfortunately the Dudor mage settled in the abandoned tower nearest here. Most of mages are content with solitude, seeking payment only when their assistance is requested. However he demands monthly tribute, mostly rare herbs and concoctions mixed by the healer. Occasionally he keeps those who bring tribute, which is why it now falls to the healer to deliver."

"Who are the mages?" Murtagh needed to be interested in this group. It seemed as though the local populace were unable to remove the mage. Did that mean there was a monopoly on magic and he would be forced to join? It also occurred to him that the group was loose and independent so that they had no responsibility for the other. He needed to be wary of the magic users and their foreign customs. The last thing he needed was to be killed in the night for not informing someone.

"The mages are a group of powerful magic users. They are solitary and usually estranged from each other unless working together on a project. When a powerful mage begins making a name for himself, if five current members elect him, he is invited to the organization. From then on they are referred to by their specialty for the next 100 years. After that they join the Grand Mages and take their old name back if they wish."

"What is the purpose of not being referred to by their birth name?" Murtagh and Thorn knew firsthand the power of true names, but this seemed irrelevant. In fact being known by what you specialize in seemed like it would be a factor in one's true name.

"Few make it to be a Grand Mage, however those that do have their names remembered forever. Since their specialty name is simply several of the Ancient Words combined, not much of the person remains in the name. Still some of the greatest delve into their specialty so much, it fits them better than their real name, such as Dezzil, their leader."

"I am a magic user. Are there any restrictions I should be aware of?"

"I can't say I'm surprised, with the dragon and all. Magery is too rare to have a set of laws developed for it, however use it for ignoble purposes and people will react accordingly. Some will fear your magic and some will wish to know more. Exercise caution when using your spells near others."

"I see. I won't be casting anything more drastic than a warming charm until this wound heals anyhow." As Gerod carved, a definite human form emerged. Though still rather vague, Murtagh could see it was a woman holding something in her hands in front of her. Gerod stood up.

"Well, I have business in town. If your up to it practice walking about, but you'd best not leave again."

oOo

_Murtagh_. He ceased his pacing. After taking a quick rest, Murtagh had gotten up to stretch about. His legs were cramped from sitting for so long, but they hasn't sustained any persisting injuries, save for one small purplish bruise along his right thigh. _How long are you going to stay in that pathetically small hut?_

_My original intention was to wait for a healer. Now it doesn't seem like an option. For now I will go along with Gerod's wishes and take advantage of the hospitality he has given me._

_I do not believe it would be a good idea to tarry here too long. You and I can both feel that Dudur is a threat to us, especially in our current state. If he gets wind that a dragon and its rider have crossed into his domain, I doubt the result will be pleasant._

_He will not get word, at least from the townsfolk._

_Even if he cannot examine their minds from this far away, I doubt this fact will be missed. I understand the need to tend to our wounds and retrieve Zar'roc, but there may be more danger than we realize._

_We shall wait until a week after the healer returns. _ Murtagh stated firmly. _I will observe the treatment and what is necessary and then we will leave._

_I accept that. Now what are you going to occupy yourself with in the meantime? I will be resuming my nap. I don't see how you can sleep so little in a day._

Thorn's presence faded into his sleeping state. His partner was right, there was very little for Murtagh to do. Despite lacking the energy to cast, he spent his time formulating a ward to protect his arm from daily tasks. It took very little effort for him to complete the task. Then he had an idea. If he could gradually add energy to the ward he'd be able to build up its strength. It didn't take long for him to reconfigure the wording to allow him to add energy later. He cast the ward to include the bandages as well, he didn't wish for the wrappings to slip away leaving his arm exposed.

The spell was taxing, Murtagh felt lightheaded as the room began to spin. It seemed the starting energy, even reduced, was a bit much. Staggering back to the bed, he attempted to sleep, but was unable. His stomach growled, demanding additional sustenance to make up for all that he was using. Moving unsteadily to the kitchen, a small bag of potatoes lay across the ground. They seemed clean enough, so Murtagh bit straight into one with a satisfying crunch. Starchy and bland, he preferred food with more flavor, but wouldn't deny himself a meal over something so trivial as taste.

Now Murtagh no longer felt the immediate need to collapse. Still exhausted, but now no longer on the verge of fainting, he decided to explore his surroundings. As he looked about, it seemed the place was for two. Two chairs were set at the table, there were two beds, one of which he occupied. However a continued searching shed doubt, three sets of utensils, both dressers were in the room with the larger bed and the smaller room was bare of anything save the bed, a table and a chair. It was an odd layout, but Murtagh felt there was a simple solution.

Tired with his exploring and new wealth of random factoids, he decided once again that he should sleep.

Murtagh's least favorite part of being injured was the bedrest. Sleeping at odd hours distorted his sense of time drastically. Were it not for the pitch darkness, he would have assumed it the next day. Or perhaps it was already morning of the next day, before the sun rose above the horizon. Either way, he poured the little energy he regained into healing and protecting his arm before sleeping again.

"I was a bit worried about you. What happened?" This time Gerod sat by the bedside. Quite a bit of time passed, his carving was nearly complete. A sad faced woman with locks of hair held out a necklace of what appeared to be teeth. It was very intricate and doubtless took a good deal of time to make.

"Helping my arm heal. How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two days since I talked to you about the mages and its getting late."

"I'd hoped to have gotten into town by today." Murtagh growled. He couldn't stay cooped up in the house for the entire time. There was also the matter of seeing if any of the townsfolk had seen Zar'roc. "Are you keeping people from visiting me or are they incurious?" He asked. After thinking about it, it was odd that he'd caused such a stir, then never seen any person from Riverfell other than Gerod. Murtagh couldn't think of a reason why Gerod would do such a thing, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.

"That would be because of your arm. They fear catching something and they may be right to. I wash myself more thoroughly and often due to the fact. The fact that Thorn practically guards the front door is also rather deterring. At least I don't have to deal with any pranks!" Gerod laughed and Murtagh stared. Anyhow, if you really wish I can take you into town tomorrow."

"I would appreciate it."

"Good! I'll bring you something to eat, then you can rest. Winter is starting to let up, but it is still rather cold." Gerod left to get soup. _Winter? _Murtagh thought. Then he realized, that it had been winter. And he'd decided to go north! All this time he thought Lokrim was a frozen wasteland, it was winter. He nearly decided to brain himself. In his time in Uru'baen seasons had been trivial. Alagaesia had a rather warm temperature, only the northern reaches of the Empire experienced snow on a regular basis. He'd completely forgot about how far north he traveled. Feeling sheepish without showing it, he ate the food and returned to sleeping.

**A/N 8/13/13: I admit it was a weak finish, but I had a little trouble reaching 2k words. I really don't like dilly dallying with my writing, though that usually leaves things undescribed. I was going to do some more worldbuilding, but I didn't think Gerod was worldly enough to be Mr. Exposition. Sometimes I find worldbuilding tedious, but I might do it anyway later. Pacing still seems too fast, but that's my usual style that Im combatting. Anyhow this is a bit of a ramble now. Thanks for reading! Review, favorite and follow and whatnot! **


	4. Chapter 4

Cold Heart IV

Being in the arms of Morpheus for so long, Murtagh awoke quite early the next day.

_Ah good you're awake. I believe I shall be going hunting while you are in town. Try to keep their attention on you. I'd hate to be chased out by an angry mob._

Murtagh didn't bother responding. Getting up from the bed he noted that dawn had nearly broken. The clothes he wore weren't suitable for the cold weather and he didn't wish to use too much energy using spells to warm himself. The mantle he'd used several days ago was still in the room and he still had his boots. As the house didn't keep the cold out well, he could tell stepping outside wouldn't freeze him to the marrow, but keeping the snow off him would be important. As he opened the door to walk out of his room he came face to face with Gerod.

"Ah good, you're awake already. Preparing to head out, I see." Glancing over Murtagh, he chuckled "You won't need all that. With the sun it will be rather warm today and it won't snow either. It'll be better to keep your arm free." Murtagh frowned before removing the mantle. He couldn't see how it would be warm outside, with snow still on the ground. Then again, most of his life had been spent near the edge of the Hadarac Desert, his experience with snow was lacking. They ate a cold breakfast of an unidentifiable salted meat, which tasted good regardless of its origin.

As they set out for town, Thorn gave Murtagh a quick glance before setting off to catch his own meal. Gerod gave only a passing glance the crimson dragon bounding over the snow. Murtagh shrugged with his good arm, which turned into a strange slumping gesture. Riverfell's closest building stood only a third of a mile away, so it was not the hike he'd imagined. The snow crunched beneath his boots and as Gerod said the weather remained temperate, despite the occasional gust. As they walked past the building, Gerod introduced it as the home of "Old Man" Ytrar Windror.

They passed by the elder's house, which they would visit on their way home. The streets were bare, with only lightly churned snow to show that the town was inhabited. Murtagh spotted the first residents watching the blacksmith.

"Look at you all, so intent! Maybe you shouldn't have taken a wife, eh Nolan?" Murtagh winced at the accusation tossed out so frivolously. For his talk of magic and honor earlier, Gerod flung a grievous insult with little second thought. He hadn't seen earlier, but as the crowd shifted to look to the speaker, Murtagh saw a well built and muscled man working the forge without a shirt. His muscles glistened with sweat as he beat upon the beginnings of a horseshoe. Nolan just turned back the the forge rubbing his hands together with a harrumph. The rest of he crowd focused their attention to Murtagh.

"So the lad's doing better?" One of the shorter ones began, a tuft of curly chestnut hair peeking from beneath his silly coonskin hat. "Your arm still could use some rest though, I doubt it'll ever be the same." He offered his hand, which Murtagh took hesitantly. "You are welcome to stay until your arm has healed. Name's Roland Windror, my family's been making the clothing in Riverfell since its founding."

"Murtagh. So you are son of Ytrar?"

"So Gerod's told you some? Well if you ever feel up to it, I can tell you more about the town." Murtagh stood as he was given directions to a house near the north side of the village. Roland smiled and excused himself to visit a friend.

"Now that he's gone, we can get to more important matters."

"Where did you find a dragon?" The remaining trio looked much more excited then men their age should have. He was unsure how to go about explaining his partner, so he gave a stern look in return. Gerod ruined the effect.

"I don't think he really owns him. The dragon's name is Thorn and he can speak!"

"Really?" The one who appeared youngest inquired "Where is he now?"

"Hunting."

"So do dragons run quickly? I doubt that that wing would've healed up so fast." The tallest of the trio spoke. Murtagh winced at the reminder of the torn wing. Thorn must have had greater endurance than he realized to remain standing. He knew the membrane of the wing was fragile and sensitive.

"He'll be fast enough."

"How old is he, centuries? Millennia?"

"Where did he come from?"

"So how much can he eat?" The three rambled on, asking questions and joking more as a means to entertain themselves than get questions answered. Murtagh stood stone faced and unresponsive. Eventually they somehow forgot about him and moved off still talking.

"Chattier than womenfolk, those three are. Mark was the youngest and is brothers with the green eyed one, Collin. The tall blond one is Andrew. Been tight knight since they were born, only more so after the Licums lost their mother. I get the feeling you should spend some time with them. It would do you good."

"I fail to see how that could be the case." Gerod just laughed, which was punctuated by ringing hammer blows. They were the only ones other than Nolan and the smith.

"So, these two gentlemen are Nolan and Smith." Murtagh blinked, looking at Smith smith for a second, who gave a grunt that conveyed something between approval and indifference before returning to his work. Nolan spoke without turning from the bed of coals.

"I pity you for having to put up with Gerod for so long. The man's got an awful sense of humor, not mentioning his cooking." Gerod smiled at the insults. It seemed the two had something that wasn't quite a rivalry, but was far from friendship as well. Seeming to sense that there was nothing more to interest them, Gerod beckoned for Murtagh to follow him away.

"Why is it that so few are working? Is there really so little to do?" It seemed strange to him that common folk allegedly under the oppression of a wizard could live so comfortably. The houses passed all were sturdily built of stone and wood, despite there being no forest in sight. All so far, save the smith, who'd been stripped down, had worn boots. A pair of boots were usually too expensive simply to purchase, they were an investment. He knew winter lacked the duties of planting season, but the town seemed too still.

"It's better to save our energy for spring. We tended to our tools and repairs much earlier on in the season."

"Is there anything I must make a priority to see, or am I now free to roam?"

"Ha! You're free to roam lad. Meet me at the tavern an hour before dusk." Murtagh nodded and took to wandering the streets. The streets were mostly empty, despite the somewhat warm temperatures, it seemed as though staying indoors was more preferable. Idling about he cast his mind over the town, not looking to pry, only to sense.

He found a presence that was...odd. It felt like the mind of a dragon, but coarser and covered in a layer of slime and anger. Unsure of what it could be Murtagh investigated, moving closer to the source. Eventually he came to the front of a house that did not greatly distinguish itsself. Walking up to the door, he thought about knocking. However, with the ominousness of the presence, if the owner knew he looking for it, they might cause trouble.

"You're the traveler, right? Don't bother, no-one's home." A voice called from the street. A man with shortly cropped dark hair carrying a large stack of books shuffled through the snow. "That's the house of the healer, Ms. Terun and her apprentice Lena. I heard you only have one good arm, but you can help carry one or two of these." Having no reason to set the townsfolk against him, Murtagh complied. If he stayed until he healed, it would do him good to become acquainted with someone.

The door opened to the scholar's home. Unlike Gerod's home, it seemed poorly maintained. Dust built upon haphazard stacks of books, there was a single table unmolested by the swarm of parchment on the nearby desk. Three of the four wooden chairs were piled with a mixture of texts. Upon his return to the chaotic abode, he flowed like a pamphlet in the wind from one pile to the next, unloading his bounty. When Murtagh held the last books, he brushed off one of the chairs sending down a ruffling cascade.

"Go ahead and sit down. My name is Michael Ohara. I am a scholar who lives here."

"And?" Murtagh didn't see the reason he was there.

"Having a dragon tends to piqué the curiosity of others." Michael held up a hand as Murtagh rolled his eyes "That's not it, although I would like to compare your dragon to the lore. No, the reason is to warn you Dudor. You may be wounded now, but when you are well the townsfolk will surely beg of you to rid us of the scourge. Declining would be the best option."

"I do not intend on confronting the mage." Michael looked blankly at Murtagh for several seconds.

"I'm absolutely touched by your compassion."

"Make up your mind," Murtagh snorted "My answer will not change, but with such a confusing attitude you will convince me of nothing."

"Simply be because you will not confront him does not mean he is irrelevant to you. His ties of fate go deeper than you would expect, and by no means will a dragon escape his notice. Now you are within this new arena, you can choose a new path unhindered by your past."

"You are doing this for some benefit of your own. For knowledge, power or pleasure, I care not. What is my reward if I help you in this?"

"You've been a pawn before it seems. Reluctant to reveal your past, what Gerod has said of you implies you wished to be alone. Should I succeed I can promise you the Monastery atop High Hrothgar."

"An isolated residence would please me, but first I must know what is required of me."

"You would not understand." Murtagh frowned, Michael held up a hand and continued "Yet. I will teach you of Dudor and his ways. When you are healed, then you may make a decision."

Murtagh was left unsure of what to think. The scholar lacked a silver tongue, his promises were vague and his request unknown. However his honesty to admit he merely needed Murtagh meant that it was not something directly plotting against him. Deciding to learn more seemed like the wisest course of action, Murtagh was intrigued. He would consult Thorn on the matter, but he planned to help the enigmatic Michael.

oOo

Michael and Murtagh agreed to meet every day after lunch. He wanted more information before he committed to anything. Sent away with a flick of the wrist after the agreement and directions to the tavern, Murtagh walked silently.

As carefree as the folks were in the desolate season, the pub retained a tense feeling as people laughed. It may have been his own battle-honed senses picking up on the erratic movement and noises, but Murtagh felt ill at ease. Could it have been the two who slurred conspiratorially to each other, laughing or the man who sat alone with a sword at his belt? Crippled and without Zar'roc, he gritted his teeth and sat in a corner to wait for Gerod.

The table near him had four men seated at it playing dice, one whom he recognized from earlier as Nolan. Murtagh did not attempt to listen, but neither did they speak softly.

"Looks like you've lost once again. You owe me now." One with a scar spoke. It was just a faint mark across the cheek. Not enough to truly mar his face, but not subtle enough to escape Murtagh's notice.

"I won't owe you by tomorrow." The one who's back faced him spoke. The others laughed.

"You know how it is. The witch and Lena won't be back for a week." Nolan remarked. The one across from Nolan, a fellow with red hair scoffed.

"Neither are getting back. The Dudur's eaten 'em!"

"You know the witch is tougher than that." Scar-face began "She probably tripped Lena to buy herself time while running away. There's no way Sarah would have gotten lost gathering Dragon's Tongue."

"I betcha the Poganklov got her."

"Poor girl. But I doubt she would have been even a snack for one. Probably fell." Nolan remarked. The talking died down a bit as they continued playing. Murtagh took the new information and attempted to reconstruct his knowledge of the town. The town healer was not generally well liked and lost at least one apprentice under suspicious circumstances in the past. It also seemed while the one with his back and Nolan believed both would return,Scar-face and Red-hair both expected at least one to be dead. Their degree of certainty was unsettling, even though some bet on them living, it sounded as though they were playing the long shots. It didn't seem to match up. With the frequency of offerings and the expected mortality rate, it should have proved quite a problem and not the sad, but unavoidable truth Gerod made it out to be.

_What is it Rider? _Thorn asked as he returned into the range where they could easily communicate. He felt something off about Murtagh's thoughts and wanted to know what his friend had come across.

_I believe I found our new home. However we will have to act as a subordinate for a time._

_And what does it require from us?_

_I am unsure as of yet, our acceptance is not definite until later. Michael will teach us more before we throw our lot in with him._

_Very well. _Thornfelt as though he would go along with the ideas, but there was also a great deal of suspicion and alertness. Murtagh could trust him to notice any amphibologies. They let their consciousnesses separate, returning their attentions to their environments.

"So I take it you're the one everyone's been talking about. John, I'm a traveler as well." He offered his left hand, switching when he noticed Murtagh's arm.

"Why do people keep bothering me?" Shaking the hand, John had a fair grip for such an uncalloused hand. He couldn't understand why people were so drawn to speak with him in lieu of his sullen mien. The traveler wasn't harried by the blunt remark.

"I'm actually here as a surveyor for the king. Well, under a chain of command that the king sits upon. There's been speak of tunneling to the other side to expand south. Since you were rumored to have come from there, I wondered if you had any information."

"I see no reason to tell you anything. To keep you from naming the land something idiotic though, I shall tell you the land I have come from is known as Alagaesia. Do not attempt to ask me any more. It would be futile."

"You are not a very personable person. You should work on that, those whose hearts are cold are met with coldness in return and in the north, you need all the warmth you can get." His eyes were still friendly as he got up and left Murtagh. Internally sighing he hoped that no more would come to pester him about his past. His desperate pleas were answered when Gerod walked into the bar. Quickly he noticed the stone-still patron and the look on his face that was more stygian than usual.

"Unpleasant day? You were so looking forward to this trip earlier." His voice had the strange quality of joking and being serious at the same time.

"It was fine. I have merely been badgered about my past and Thorn all day. Hopefully they will grow used to me in time."

"It is good we haven't scared you away! You look quite weary now, perhaps we should return now."

"I have no arguments with that suggestion."

**8/24/13: It's been a bit! Well school is back up and running, so that will be taking up time. I didn't quite make the 3k words I wanted and I really hope I will make my 4k next update. So what is thought of this chapter? I started fleshing the town out, and inadvertently it just looks like a string of plot hooks. Weak ending again, I suppose its because I never want the chapters to end. As for some of the longer words in there beware! For I have found my word-a-day calendars. To my regret I was unable to use cathexis, but I should get 'incarnadine' in the chapter after the next. (Perhaps a minor spoiler if you know the meaning? Or at least a hint I suppose.) Anyhow, thanks for reading, review, favorite and follow and make me TvTropes Pg Plz.**


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